


it was cold, but it got warm (when you barely crossed my eye)

by WhatsATerrarium



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Phobias, Singing, fear of thunder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22842247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatsATerrarium/pseuds/WhatsATerrarium
Summary: “Joan,” he begins calmly, drawing her attention to him.  She notices the look on his face.  He’s put together, calm, ….understanding.  “Are you afraid of thunderstorms?”She doesn’t like the word 'afraid', per se, but-“Yes,” she breathes quietly.  “I am.”
Relationships: Joan Bright/Owen Thompson | Agent Green
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25
Collections: Happy Birthday Marcus





	it was cold, but it got warm (when you barely crossed my eye)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefigureinthecorner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefigureinthecorner/gifts).



> Title is from "The Gambler" by fun.
> 
> Happy birthday to my favorite honorary cousin.
> 
> I..... really didn't get to do all I wanted with this one. It's not my best by far, and I'm sorry for that, but... I hope you like it.

It’s been a near perfect day. They had woken up early and watched the sunrise. They had made breakfast together, and they had had the day off work. They had gone out to lunch and to a movie, and they had talked for hours and eaten the dinner that he had prepared while she had sat on the counter. They had spent the whole day together,

And yeah, it’s been a perfect day.

Until a flash of lightning from outside shines through the window right as Joan, lying on top of him in his bed, is moving in to kiss him again. It had been pouring down rain, but it had been raining a lot lately without any sign of thunder or lightning.

But as the lightning flashes, she pulls away from him just in time to hear a loud crash of thunder echo throughout the room.

“Joan?” He looks up at her, a little taken aback, and continues with a reassuring tone. “Is everything alright?”   
  
Her heart’s begun racing faster and she can feel a sense of unease settling in. “Um, no, I’m- Everything’s fine. Let’s…” she begins to trail off, but the silence she’d been taking to collect herself is interrupted by another crash of thunder, knocking her further off her guard.

Owen squirms out from under her, sitting up. “Seriously, Joan, what’s wrong?”

“I…” she breathes, unable to help the anxious feeling welling up in her gut, causing her breaths to grow more hurried. “I promise, everything’s fine, I just…” once again, she hopes to trail off, but Owen is staring at her with understanding and curious eyes. He’s waiting for her to continue. She clears her throat, taking another deep breath and trying to relax herself. “I just… I  _ don’t like _ …”   
  
Why on earth did this have to happen today? Now? Why? Why couldn’t she just stick to having borderline panic attacks over something as simple as some light thunder when she was alone in her apartment with no one to embarrass herself in front of?

And then comes another one. No, no, no. She’s not about to start crying. She  _ can’t _ . She can’t be weak, because if she’s weak she can’t be dependable, and if she’s not dependable what good is she to him? To  _ anyone _ ? She’s supposed to be strong, she  _ has _ to be strong. She has to be-

“Joan,” he begins calmly, drawing her attention to him. She notices the look on his face. He’s put together, calm, ….understanding. “Are you afraid of thunderstorms?”   
  
She doesn’t like the word ‘ _ afraid _ ’, per se, but-

“Yes,” she breathes quietly. “I am.”

The next one makes her flinch. The second she does, Owen reaches for her hand and grasps it tightly.

“O-Okay then,” he begins, he’s starting to sound nervous as well, as though being influenced by her anxious feelings. “Is there anything I can do?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but once again, she barely has time to collect herself. Each one always seems so much louder than the last. He’s pulling at her hand now, and it takes a second for her to register that he’s trying to pull her closer.

She lets herself fall towards him, practically collapsing once she lets her muscles relax. He wraps his arms around her the second she does, and she lets out a deep breath just as yet another loud rumble echoes through the room. Deep breaths. She reminds herself to keep her breathing at a normal pace, try to tune out the noises and the flashes of light.

She feels the bed rustling and for a moment, her anxiety spikes before she realizes it’s just Owen moving the blanket. He’s lifting it out from under them and pulling it over instead. She’s not wearing her glasses, so she doesn’t have to hesitate before pressing her face in close to Owen’s chest. His hand wanders upwards towards her head and begins carding through her hair gently.

The thunder and lightning, she knows, can’t actually be coming at as rapid a pace as they seem to be, because they feel practically non stop. The sound of thunder seems to be playing on repeat in her ears and she can feel her hands start to shake and her eyes start to water.

“It’s okay,” she hears Owen’s voice cut through the noise calmly. “You’re okay.”   
  
She’s okay. She’s inside and she’s in Owen’s arms and she’s safe.  _ She’s okay _ .

Why doesn’t knowing that make her feel any better? Why doesn’t that make this dreadful, anxious feeling  _ stop _ ?

Owen’s hand continues to work its way through her hair, gently combing through small knots and his fingers running along her scalp comfortingly. She can focus on this. She can focus on this, and her breath, and the darkness. If she can distract her senses, she can try to relax. The main problem here, however, is the overwhelming volume of nature’s forces at work outside.

“Hey, Owen?” She speaks up quietly, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“Yes?” he asks, placing a kiss on her forehead and shifting his position ever so slightly.

“Do you think you could… distract me?”

“Distract you?”   
  
“Just- from the noise. Give me something else to listen to, focus on. I don’t care what. You could talk, or…”

There’s an alternative that neither of them speak, but that she can tell he’s considering. He’s quiet for a moment and Joan’s left to listen to the thunderclaps that leave her heart beating out of her chest.

Then he clears his throat.

He rarely ever sings for her.

But tonight, she supposes, is different, because he opens his mouth and lets a melody drift out. His voice is still soft, quiet, but it’s something to draw her focus away from the noises outside and the worries in her head.

It’s not a song she knows, but she decides that it’s a song she likes. It’s a love song, but not a generic one. Just like every other song he sings her, it’s specific. It’s a story.

It’s beautiful.

His voice is beautiful.

He’s beautiful.

His arms are wrapped around her tightly and his hand is still stroking her hair. She finds herself crying into his chest, her mind overwhelmed still with all of the noise and panic, but he doesn’t mind.

He nears the end of the song within minutes and while she still feels absolutely, undeniably  _ awful _ , she’s at least relatively stable. When the storm shows no sign of stopping, he starts again.

He sings through the same song over and over, and she finds the routine comforting. The same song starts and ends every few minutes, and every time she gets a little bit calmer and her eyelids grow a little bit heavier.

As he’s nearing the end of the song for the fifth time, she can feel herself starting to drift off.

“ _ So I’ll set the table…. _ ”   
  
She lets out a yawn, nuzzling up closer to him.   
  
She wonders how after all these years of being overlooked by anyone and everyone that this was even a possibility. Someone who cared about her, who  _ wanted to take care of her _ .

“ _...and you can make the fire. _ ”   
  
Just as she’s beginning to fully drift off to sleep, the storm still raging outside, she hears him start the song again, and that’s enough to reassure her.

She’s here. She’s safe.

She’s okay.

**Author's Note:**

> The song Owen sings is also "The Gambler" by fun.
> 
> *
> 
> So a big reason why I don't usually leave comments is that it doesn’t feel like a conversation, it feels too definite. So, as opposed to asking you to leave comments (which I do still very much appreciate and will respond to if that’s your thing), I’m going to let you know how to contact me!
> 
> Instagram: whats_a_terrarium  
> Discord: whats_a_terrarium#0251  
> Tumblr: whats-a-terrarium  
> Twitter: whatsaterrarium
> 
> If you have any thoughts, ideas, constructive criticism, or just want to ramble, never hesitate! :)


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